Sweet Dreams
by snakefang3227
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Wesley Hawkins is about to come face-to-face with the infamous Freddy Krueger. Will he survive the nightmare or will he sleep forever?


"**Sweet Dreams"**

Walking down the crumbling sidewalk, Wesley stopped and faced the old house in front of him. As if there was no one inside, its blood-red door swung wide open, seemingly beckoning him to enter. Wesley hesitated for a moment before walking up the porch, climbing up the rickety steps, and crossing the threshold. The chipped paint on the walls and the cobwebs growing on the stair case suggested a period of abandonment. Walking into the hall, he suddenly found himself in a boiler room setting, the smell of smoke and ash weighed heavily on the air. With a roar, a fire sprung up from inside the stove and was accompanied by the sound of a thousand pipes bursting to life. A cold chill ran up to the base of Wesley's spine as a metallic screech entered the scene. He immediately clasped his hands to his head, but the sound seemed to have intensified and like a drill, began burrowing into his skull.

From the shadows, a man appeared, and from the looks of him, he resembled something that crawled from the deepest bowels of Hell. He wore a leather glove on his right hand, which was covered in bits of scrap metal and four knives protruded from his fingertips. Scraping them against the wall, the screeching resumed, followed by sparks that flew from the wall and knives, partially illuminating the man's dark features in the shadows. The man was covered in awful burn scars and he wore a filthy red-and-green striped sweater. Beady black eyes glared at Wesley from underneath his dark brown hat. The screeching grew louder and louder as the man got closer and closer to Wesley, like the heartbeat of a predator nearing its prey. The man began to cackle, it was a horrible chuckle that seemed to rest in his throat and yet filled the room. "Oh, God!" Wesley muttered as his heart felt ready to leap out of his chest.

The man stopped six feet away from Wesley and took his glove off of the wall. Chuckling, he whispered, "Oh, no, my dear boy." He then raised the glove and stated, "_This_….is….God." Wesley turned to run, but found the man had somehow transported himself to the other side of the room. Wesley turned around to find the spot where the man had stood was empty. He then turned back towards the man. The man began approaching Wesley, his bladed hand at his side like a gunslinger and the knives were wagging in anticipation. Wesley pointed and growled, "You stay the hell away from me." The man chuckled eerily and raised his arms. As if on cue, the fires in the stoves roared thunderously and grew, filling the room in a hellish glow. "Where do you think we are, kid?" The man inquired cruelly. Wesley started to run down a corridor, and was blocked by a wall of fire. He ran towards the exit, and again, a wall of fire appeared. The man slowly walked towards Wesley; his gloved hand rose above his head. He whispered, "Sweet dreams," before bringing it down.

Wesley awoke screaming in his bed, his face soaked with sweat. He clutched at his chest and began to unbutton his shirt went the doorknob turned. He quickly threw the cover back over himself and laid back down as his parents came in. His father incredulously asked, "Wesley, are you all right?" Wesley nodded as his mother knelt beside his bed and dabbed at his forehead with the edge of her robe. She said gently, "We heard screaming, honey. We thought something had happened." Wesley managed to give them a reassuring smile. "No, it was just a nightmare. I'm fine, thanks. Sorry I woke you." His parents gave each other thank-God-he's alright glances and gave his hugs and kisses good night. "Good night, son. See ya in the morning," his father said gingerly as he turned to leave. Wesley's mother added, "Sweet dreams, sweetie," before leaving. After his folks turned off the light and shut the door, Wesley got out of bed, went to his mirror, and unbuttoned his shirt. He gasped. There were four, perfect claw marks running diagonally from his shoulder, across his chest and stopping at his side. The words began to echo in his head, the ones said by both his mom and the man from his dreams, words to this day that bring him thoughts of terror and vulnerability: "Sweet dreams."


End file.
